


Coffee in Brooklyn

by Leia_Blaze



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gratuitous descriptions of coffee, Hipsters, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-15 21:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10558170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leia_Blaze/pseuds/Leia_Blaze
Summary: Jacob and Aaron drink some coffee together. It's actually pretty difficult.





	

“This,” Aaron announced, “is the worst fucking coffee I have ever had.”

The portable cup he carried was shared between Jacob and his boyfriend, Aaron _did_ contain what they supposed was coffee. It tasted like coffee, in a sense, and was brown and a liquid. But for a place that was supposed to be “Brooklyn’s Best Coffee™” it was severely lacking. Not a great look for their first meal in the city.

“It,” Aaron continued, “Is a bitter mess. Really damn sour, like some Maxwell House shit. Can you believe we paid like six bucks for this cup? Disgusting.” Jacob let Aaron continue to rant for a bit, describing every minute detail that was wrong with this bean juice. Jacob wasn’t as heavily invested in it or not; to him, coffee was either good or bad, and he couldn’t quite explain why. Luckily, Aaron was a hipster who had started drinking this stuff at age 12; he could go on for days. Jacob simply smiled and nodded, taking a look at the other side of the street. Brooklyn was better for couples like them; Cleveland was fine enough, but it was often so gray all the time. Brooklyn was comparatively more squat than certain parts of the Metropolis of the Western Reserve, but it had more color to it, both in variety and in the buildings. Rather than a gray concrete, many buildings were made up of a nice red brick.

“...and I didn’t pay for fucking acid!” Aaron yelled, pulling his arm back to toss it like he did his phone when it got a virus. _Motherfucker,_ Jacob thought and went in to block his mate’s arm, grabbing it.

“Jacob,” Aaron said, cautiously, “Jacob, please tell me why I shouldn’t toss this bitter bean juice into the street and watch it satisfyingly spill into the street, unloved and uncared for?”

“Because,” Jacob said calmly, looking right into Aaron’s eyes, “we paid six dollars for that coffee. You barely drank a third of it, and we can’t just waste it.”

“Then what should we do?

It took a few seconds. Jacob hadn’t considered what to do with the shitty coffee, which was a consistent problem. He’d start something, and never finish, like his dozen songs on all those albums he was trying to write.

“I’ll drink it.” The words came out of his mouth on his own, the moment they came across Jacob’s mind. A second later he had regretted it. The over-roasted mess of liquid in that cup left a lingering taste in his mouth, one of regret and wasted money. But the thought of wasted food, no matter how terrible, would hurt him more than anything on his taste buds.

“I’ll drink it,” he repeated, grabbing the cup out of Aaron’s hands. His boyfriend had a look of concern on his face, and before Jacob knew it he was in the midst of a tight hug.  
“I’m sorry, honey. Just know that if you don’t make it, I love you.”

It had been decided. This was his fate. Putting the travel mug to his lips, Jacob let the sub-Starbucks level coffee down his throat. It was worse than before; he had in vain hoped that the taste would be better as it cooled, that it wouldn’t be acidic on its way down, but the pain from it being hot distracted him from just how astringent the whole class was. He wanted to spit it out, and even felt himself begin to cough, but he had to remain strong. For Aaron.

The second gulp was even alleviated, if only because he had gotten used to it. By the third, his taste buds must have undergone some form of Stockholm syndrome, because he had started to like it. Gulp number four, however, brought every repugnant taste back, and he had to stop. He nearly dropped the cup entirely as he moved it away from his lips. Why did he do this? Why couldn’t he just waste food for once in his damn life? Just pour it into a sewer and be done with it.

But he heard his mother in his mind, from those times he tried to toss one of her home cooked meals. She wasn’t good at it, never was, which is why she often put in TV dinners. But she always had a look of being broken hearted when one of the few times she had worked this hard had been rejected, and Jacob always made sure to finish his food, no matter how bad her cheese casserole was. His thought wandered to the barista, wide-eyed and innocent. He was the only one behind the counter that day, and probably ran the place. Jacob thought of how his face would look, hypothetically, if he had poured it out. He’d pout, not cry until later because he needed to remain professional, might even offer a refund.

Jacob felt something squeeze his hand. He looked down and saw Aaron’s hand interlaced with him. It gave him just a moment of bravery, a moment he had to seize. In one long breath, he put the cup back to his lips and chugged the rest of the coffee, down the grains leftover. It was disgusting, horrifying, and he knew for a fact that he would never get coffee he didn’t make himself for the next four years.

“I’m proud of you,” Aaron whispered, giving Jacob a quick peck on the cheek. Jacob squirmed a bit; he was never good with public displays of affection, but he never minded receiving it. “Should we get ice cream somewhere or got to Central Park? I hear it’s lovely this time of spring.”

Jacob returned with a peck of his own. “Ice cream sounds good. Need to get this bullshit out of my mouth. And I hear there’s a place around here that uses liquid nitrogen.”

“Sounds good to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission! If you would like to commission me, email me at saintdane05@gmail.com!


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